


drawn to the blood

by maggotbrainz (pinkmaggit)



Series: heirate mich [2]
Category: Metallica
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Choking, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Immortality, Knifeplay, Light Bondage, M/M, Regeneration, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Snuff, Stabbing, Subspace, consensual torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:14:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28862373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkmaggit/pseuds/maggotbrainz
Summary: my knife it's sharp and chromecome see inside my bones+or: a knife, romantic vivisection, bloody sheets, and a latent snuff kink.
Relationships: Kirk Hammett/Jason Newsted
Series: heirate mich [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1905574
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	drawn to the blood

**Author's Note:**

> warning: this fic includes gore (vivisection/knives/blood/gutfucking) + references to necro. sorry. there is no actual death in this fic, it is merely referenced to. if you're reading this disclaimer and you're having second thoughts, i suggest you don't proceed.
> 
> +
> 
> for those of u who have been waiting for more morgue au content for like five months ,,,, im so sorry.
> 
> anyways. this is like,,,, just a little aside in morgue au verse. maybe a few years down the line or something. i didn't want to write a full arc or anything but i kinda like this lil snippet so im gonna post it anyways. im just trying to clean shit outta my drafts at this point anyways so. yeah
> 
> also !!! i do have plans for more morgue au shit so. it will come. pls enjoy

Jason moans.

He can feel his pulse. Hear it, pounding loud and fluttery in his ears, blood streaming fast and hot through his veins. With each pump of his heart there's a dizzying rush of it. 

It's almost like listening to waves out by the seaside. Almost like holding some pale-silvery-pink conch shell up to his ear, like some delicate porcelain relic in his hands, and the sound of the ocean rushing through him, low and ever-present. 

A droplet of sweat trails down his back. Cool, slow. Skims along his spine, drips between his shoulder blades. It cuts through his haze, lights up his senses. The rest of his body feels tingly, fuzzy. He's simultaneously heavy and light, his head floating. 

Jason can’t feel his hands anymore, his arms and shoulders aching at the way his wrists have been tied-up together, hands resting at the small of his back. He’s sure his wrists are going to be rubbed-raw by the end of this. 

It doesn't matter, though. Feels good, like this. 

A constant test of his body’s limits, pitted against that ever-present reminder that for him, there aren't any. Not really. Not in a tangible way, a permanent way, a meaningful way. 

Limitless. Weightless. Words turn to strings of letters in his hazy brain and then to meaningless syllables and then nothing at all but a hum, ever-present, crackly at times but mostly soft.

Maybe like television static. 

_Mmm_. 

It’s like he’s been pillowed in something, cocooned up. Dead body all sealed-up, remains wrapped in the bed sheets and ready for burial. The pillowcase keeps vacuuming itself to his nose and mouth. Jason likes it. Likes the way the sheets are soft against his skin, warm from his body heat.

Then there's the drag of the knife. The blade skips along his spine, every so often parting flesh. 

He's burning, on fire. 

When he tries to arch into the sting, the hand around his neck goes taut. Kirk’s fingers dig into his skin, nails biting at tender flesh. Jason feels his windpipe constrict at the pressure, and he wheezes a little.

“Thought I told you not to move.”

He nods, slightly.

“Do you want more?”

 _God,_ yes. 

Jason barely hears himself beg- all whiny, spilling out his mouth and trailing off into a half-sob, all _please please please-_ gasping for air between.

He wants whatever Kirk will give him. Wants it so bad he can feel it in his bones, in the way his jaw has locked-up, all sore and taut at the way the point of the knife first digs into the skin near his ribs, pin-pricking sharp, and then the way it burns, arcs like lightning through his nerves as the blade sinks in.

The whine he lets out is needy, desperate. Like he’d do anything for more of the pain. The fucked-up part of it all is that he would. He would, in a heartbeat. Do whatever Kirk wants, anything Kirk needs.

 _Fuck_.

Then he can barely breathe, because the knife slides a little deeper, hot through his guts, wedging tight in between all his intestines and his stomach. 

He feels like one of those bugs on a card, the ones you see at the museum. Preserved perfectly, wings spread wide, a mockery of flight with their glittering exoskeletons and dead, bead-glass eyes and hair-fine limbs. Forever perfect behind glass.

“God, you’re so good,” Kirk murmurs, and his voice is so loving, so awe-struck and soft it’s fucked up and too-much and Jason can’t get enough of it. “Look so gorgeous like this, baby.”

Jason can hardly focus between the haze of arousal and the sting of pain. It’s all the same, all gets him hard, makes him want to simultaneously crawl out of his own skin and sink so deep into it he’ll never come up for air again. His tongue might as well be useless; sits there thick and limp in his open mouth, spit dripping from his chin onto the pillows. 

All he wants is more, more, _more_. More of Kirk's hand around his neck and more of Kirk's shitty kitchen knife digging through his back, tip poking out his stomach, wedged in tight between his guts, and more of Kirk's dick, thrusts hard and just barely grazing against his prostate.

“Please-” Jason gasps out, and his voice is ragged and choked-up. There’s that hot-slick-wet trickle of blood, oozing slow over his skin and smearing all over the sheets where his chest is pressed flush to the bed. “Please- I-”

It takes almost all of his effort to even manage those few words.

His thighs ache. They’re shuddering so much his whole fucking body feels weak. Jason’s not sure if it’s because he’s bleeding out or from the lack of air or Kirk’s dick so far up his ass he’s seeing stars. Maybe all of it.

Probably all of it.

Then his nose starts to bleed. It bursts across his tongue, iron-sharp and rich, all heavy in his mouth. When his mouth falls open on a moan- Kirk’s pulled the knife free- a bit of blood comes bubbling up out between his teeth, splatters all over the pillowcase.

A shuddery-achey mewl claws out of his mouth.

Jason kind of feels like he’s dead in the water right now. Kirk’s hand rubs at his hip, his thigh. It’s grounding, soft, warm. Brings Jason back to Earth temporarily, cuts through the thick haze in his brain.

Then Kirk pulls out, and Jason whines loud. When Kirk rolls him over, Jason feels his guts shift around weird. There’s a squelch of blood. He feels it all bubble up out of the wound, run thick and wet all over his stomach. Blood drips down and pools in the creases of his thighs. Slides lower. 

His hands are numb, underneath himself. Jason doesn’t care. 

Kirk’s hands cup his cheeks. Thumb stroking over his cheek. Jason blinks, eyes barely managing to focus. Light seems to halo Kirk’s head; it’s so bright Jason’s starting to wonder if he's gonna pass out from blood loss. Wouldn't be the first time. 

“Hey,” Kirk murmurs, and suddenly he’s there, kissing Jason’s lips. Slow, soft. Jason loves Kirk. Loves Kirk with blood in his mouth and a knife in his guts. Hand around his neck hard enough to bruise. “You okay, baby?”

Jason nods.

“Promise? You can safeword if you wanna tap out.”

“M’good,” Jason slurs. “Good. Love you.”

Kirk smiles. Kisses him softly. “Love you too. Fuck, baby. Love you.” 

Then Kirk pushes back in. Jason whimpers at the stretch. He dazedly watches Kirk pick the knife up again, stares as Kirk holds it point-first right towards his lips.

“Open up.”

Jason does. Lets his mouth fall open. Kirk presses the flat of the blade against his tongue, and that's his own blood, his own little scraps of flesh. On his tongue. In his mouth. _Fuck._ Jason wonders if Kirk would cut his tongue in two if he asked for it.

His dick twitches.

_Oh, god._

“Stay still,” Kirk whispers. 

He pulls the knife free of Jason's mouth. Spit glimmers on the blade. 

And then when Kirk lines the knife up, sinking deep into his belly, ripping up in a jagged line between his ribs, Jason keens so loud it rings in his ears. 

_God_. 

He’s split open. Maybe figuratively, too. More than just his guts on display, possibly. He might as well be an exposed nerve, the way it burns through him, his whole back arching off the bed into the sting. It’s so fucking much, and Jason’s whole body feels like it’s on fire and staticky. 

“Good?”

“Yeah- please, _please-_ ”

When Kirk pulls the knife free, Jason sags into the mattress. It’s easy to let himself go limp. Be a body, a toy, nothing but a fucked-up cross of a blowup doll and an autopsy demonstration all rolled-up in one. 

Jason’s pretty sure he’s crying. Teary-eyed. Everything’s a little blurry. 

“Touch me,” Jason gasps out. Kirk knows exactly what he means.

And then there’s Kirk’s hands in his guts, slick with blood, soft and gentle and rough and tugging, all his thrusts sloppy and hard, and Jason’s gonna die. He can hardly breathe, writhing and sobbing at the sensations, so much pain and pleasure all wrapped-up, intertwined, that he can’t handle it anymore. 

Jason thinks he’s gonna die for real. His dick twitches hard at that thought, the thought of Kirk using him, fucking him, hands in his guts even as he stiffens up, goes a little glassy-eyed and cool-

His mind blanks out. Jason feels everything go fuzzy, indistinct, sensations disappearing. The hum in his ears pitches to a whine, and then there’s nothing.

+

Jason blinks.

The bedroom is dark. Kirk’s arms are wrapped around his waist, nose pressed against the back of his neck. Jason can feel each soft puff of breath, warm and slow against his skin.

The sheets are clean. They smell like lavender, still warm from the dryer. Jason wonders, for a moment, how long he was out for. Then he blinks and lets it slip from his mind. 

His wounds are all healed-up, just like every time before. The skin of his wrists is soft, blemish-free. Kirk must have wiped all the blood off, too, because Jason can’t feel any of that dried-tacky residue that’s usually left behind after they play around with the knives. He shifts a little, body sore in that good way, drained and fucked-out. 

Kirk hums softly, pressing a kiss to the jut of bone at the base of his neck.

“You good, baby?”

Jason nods. “Yeah.” He laces his fingers with Kirk’s. That gets a little laugh, soft and sweet. 

“Good,” Kirk whispers. He presses another kiss to the back of Jason’s neck, fingers rubbing over Jason’s belly where the wound once was.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> <3


End file.
